Mirrors
by MeLlamoSammo
Summary: Quinn is a CIA agent, and her newest case brings back past loves and old enemies. Rated for language, action, and content. Faberry.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Ryan Murphy owns Glee, Rachel and Quinn. Shame, I'd like to rent them for one week... It'd be the most viewed episode of Glee ever, I think. xD

Some parts of New York are not geographically accurate. Sorry for that. :3

**Mirrors**

I knew when I took this case, despite the rules, that trouble was just around the corner. Maybe that's why I was so eager to get it, to bust the guy who started this mess. Finn Hudson.

Finn motherfucking Hudson. The guy that always got the girl, no matter how badly he treated her, or no matter how much of a douchebag he actually is. While I may just be projecting anger over our past, I know some part of it has to be true. She didn't say 'yes', not if the papers are getting it right.

"I say we've got him dead to rights." Snapping out of my thoughts, I turn to my superior.

"You really think it's a breach of national security, not some other motive? I highly doubt a guy like this would know the person he killed was a member of the CIA, much less Brody Weston."

"His badge was in his jacket-"

"What was the cause of death?"

"The bastard hit him like it was batting practice and tossed him in the river. You're saying this wasn't planned? That he was smart enough to take out one of our own?"

"Read the tabloids, he's in the public eye, linked to a Rachel Berry." I note, flipping my newspaper to page 6.

"You read the gossip columns, Fabray? Would've never guessed that."

Of course I read them. Every girl does, gay or straight, and especially with a job like mine. While most of it's trash, about thirty percent of the rumors end up being true. Kim Kardashian did get pregnant, and Broadway's gold star Rachel Berry is often seen with a tall male, whom she insists is just a friend.

"It's a chick thing. While down in Narcotics, he attended the same school as her, NYADA. Just a tad less prestigious than Julliard. Acceptance rate is ten percent."

"Shit, where'd he learn to be a Sinatra?"

Shrugging, I murmur, "Can't google everything."

"Q, wait," he chuckles, holding his stomach, before getting to his punchline, "please don't tell me..."

"Yes, he was the one that moonlighted as a male escort. Those poor, naive bankers..." I trail off, my voice overwhelmed by my boss' laughter. Sexism and masculinity never fail to be forefronts of this career; a man dies, and people still find humor in it. Hell, even I felt bad when I found out the guy had to jump in bed with all the big wigs in New York, often men. But he saw Rachel, went to class with her, probably dated-

"Sorry, I got caught up."

Me too.

"He was a good student, even if it was just an assignment. Berry had classes with him, and knows the perp. I say we call it into a station, got a case of a jealous boyfriend. Plain and simple."

Finn's pretty stupid anyways.

"Your theory, your call. You can go down there and sort out something they should be figuring out." That's Scotty logic right there. Lazy ass.

Glancing over his dark brown hair, blue tie putting together his expensive suit, and 'I-don't-give-a-shit-about-you" expression he always seems to wear, I manage to find his steely eyes. No wonder I can't fall in love with men. They're impossible.

"You're my superior, they're gonna want you there at some point."

"And you can tell them that you're acting as an interim, because unfortunately, I've got to, uh, do more important shit, than arrest a guy for killing a male prostitute."

"I swear, just a second ago he was one of our best."

"It's open and shut. Detectives can't screw up a case that's already been solved. Call it in."

Part of me wants to do it, just as much as the other part doesn't. I'd catch Captain Asshole, but that means diddly squat, because even as a murderer he's always had more of a chance than I have at love. We indulge, just never fully. And as much as people would like to think, money doesn't replace that empty feeling. It's funny, just wanting a simple life, something most people dread. They go home, to their wife, husband, kids. I wander, hoping I made the right decision to give it up. Normal is seriously underrated.

Filing paperwork is a cinch, I can do that in my sleep. And while annoying, dealing with the bureau, even the local authorities is no problem. It's her. But I took the case for her.

So, of course I call the boys in blue for a standard visit. Just, you know, questioning the most successful person to come from Lima, Ohio about a murder. In exchange for bagels and coffee, at least. New York's good for that.

* * *

Rule number one, you're not in the CIA. If anyone asks, hell, you're a stripper before you're an agent. James Bond may have made it look easy, but it's a constant fear, because we all have someone. I'd be lying if I said it was Beth, my biological daughter, but Shelby keeps her safe. That's more satisfactory that the almost legions of security detail surrounding Shelby's own daughter, Rachel. Situations like these make me wonder if we're just meant to be, because all of these coincidences keep bringing us together. My kid, her mom, what are the odds of that?

That or God's still holding out for me to give up bacon in exchange for keeping it in Finn's pants. Sorry, God. I did it all the time for Puck.

Rule number two, of course, is cutting all ties with everyone you love. You have no parents, no family, no Puck with his mother insisting that pork isn't kosher. Everyone's a conservative Christian here, because you can love God, talk to Him. It helps, with regrets, sometimes being unable to sleep. Anything but love.

I'd give up bacon for Rachel. I think. And I'm sorry for hating Finn, and calling him names, if You care. I'll try to be good in New York, curse less, and be more patient when waiting for taxi's, instead of loudly ranting about all New Yorkers being unable to drive. They're the best, honestly. Thanks God. Amen.

That's all I can pray. We're bred to not harbor any feelings. Emotions deter focus, and if your best friend was a mass killer, you'd hesitate to arrest him. Not me. I'd arrest Santana Lopez in a heartbeat. She could get two life sentences, and I wouldn't bat an eyelash.

"You smile, Fabray, go ahead. Until I go 'Lima Heights' on your hipster wannabe, maternity ward dressing-"

Ok, that's enough of Santana, enough feeling for a day, a lifetime.

* * *

"We got her. She's a little confused, but here. Probably the highlight of my day, having to stop a rehearsal while she's stretch-"

"Thanks for the play by play. She got a lawyer?" Looking into the two way mirror, I twitch. Rachel's still looking a day older than 16, trying to figure out what she's doing here. Calmly, the detective explains that she's in no trouble, and not going to jail.

"I say you pick her up."

"That doesn't answer my question."

She does, though, when she waives her right to a lawyer. It's bold, she wants to talk for herself.

"Hell, she can afford any hotshot lawyer, or are you just lucky?"

Taking a sip of my coffee, I feel the need to get a reaction out of this guy, before probably the most awkward moment I'll have in my lifetime.

"If it's like the movies, I give her three days to fall for me. Still, more lucky than you, eh?"

Slamming the door, and probably a protest on my grammar, I open the door to interrogations.

My heart jumped. Her eyes seemed to bounce off of mine, and before I could even compose myself, I hear a soft voice.

"Quinn?"

"I'm- I'm with the bureau," I lie, instinctively, and before I know it, the Rachel Berry is flipping her shit on me, throwing questions at me left and right.

Holding my hands up to signal the cop, I suggest everyone leave, and I finish the interrogation alone, with a camcorder. All that effort, just for her to slap me in the face, once everyone's gone.

"How could you? You just left me, and you walk in here, like everything's ok! Gosh, I thought you were dead, Quinn! Dead! Do you know how that feels, to wonder if someone's even alive?"

"Detectives are targets. People always wanna kill us. I couldn't put you through that; the job kinda requires not having friends," I chuckle. It's part true.

Lightly touching my face, to see if I bruised at all, she's stammering apologies.

"Oh God, now you have a reason to arrest me- I'm so sorry, I didn't think-"

"No one's here. And, at least I know theater isn't all smoke and mirrors. You are the real deal, Miss Berry."

I'm blushing, and I've got to stop. Now.

"So, um, you're here because I need information. Do you remember Finn Hudson?" My eyes met hers again, and I remembered:

"When you were singing that song, you were singing it to Finn and only Finn. Right?"

Shit, that hurt. That was the one and only time I tried to tell Rachel I liked her. And that's how it came out.

Sorry God. It's New York.

"Quinn, of course I do, we still spend time, oh my gosh, is he hurt? Is he dead, Quinn please-"

And, the annoying part I always had to overlook to get to the greener grass... Ranting Rachel. Stifling a likely long list of ridiculous questions, I assure her that Finn is in perfect health.

"But you're not safe around him. We think, we think Finn may have murdered someone."

"What? No- no, surely this is a mistake, Finn wouldn't lay a harming hand on anyone. He's never, ever hit me, and he- he's always been a perfect gentleman."

I'm not a psychologist, but I'll play the part, because it's Rachel, and I honestly want to know.

"So you're saying," I note, focusing on her hands to avoid looking up, "you've never ever felt threatened by him, or scared? Has he ever said anything to you that sounded malicious in the least?"

No.

"I guess, I guess-"

Putting down my defense, I look up. Geez Finn, you had one job. Don't tell me you couldn't hack leaving Rachel alone.

"This one time, we were discussing him getting roles, and that I could help him- but he was drunk-"

Ah, like drunks, Rachel has many forms. This is Compassionate Rachel.

"And he told me, that he didn't want to 'whore himself out for fame' like I did, because he was better than that."

Things like that make me want to laugh when they give him the death penalty. Santana wouldn't do that. She'd get a smile, and earn a 'get out of jail free' card somehow. And Brittany could pull a Shawshank if she got any serious time.

God, remembering people sucks.

"You didn't do that," I reassure her. "Finn's just bitter because you made it, like we all said you would, and he didn't."

"And so did you."

"Kindof." Like I said, the money's great, but usually people assume I'm best friends with Taylor Swift or something.

"This is so weird, reuniting like this... Can we have a coffee, or something afterwards?"

My mind races, thinking of excuses, ways to get out of it. Emergency protection would work. Let her stay with a cop.

But it's my case.

If they lose her, or God forbid, Finn try to hurt her, I'd be empty. There'd be no difference between me and the many people I've put behind bars for life, or sent to an early grave.

"Maybe, but for now, you need to stay with me. We'll get you into a safe place, until we solve this case-"

"You don't understand, Finn's innocent, someone must have framed him-"

"We have all the reason to believe he murdered Brody Weston."

"No, that can't be... Brody, he never..." I don't think she can even argue with it, as she slowly sinks into the metal chair, tears threatening to fall at any second.

Pulling out a bag, I toss it on the table.

"You were close to him, the press said you were dating. He hit Brody from behind, the blow alone would've been enough to leave permanent brain injury. Then, he dragged him into his own car, and drove it off into the river. Smart idea, water washes out prints."

"Then, how do you-?"

"He wasn't with you, so no sightings. The motive was there, the timing. Just no physical evidence. That is, until we stripped the car. Completely flushed out, but we got prints from the most unlikely place."

"And you're sure it was him, that they weren't, I don't know, planted, or made up? Can't people do that?"

"Finn's audition song, what got him into Glee club, was REO Speedwagon's 'Can't Fight This Feeling'. He was listening to music in the car, and his prints were lifted from a CD in the car radio. Wheels Are Turnin'?"

"Not a big fan."

"Me neither. He didn't really like Brody, did he?"

Staring at the ground, Rachel is resorting, more and more, to awkwardly staring at the wall or ground.

"No, he didn't. He still wants to- God, how can you be so calm about this? Didn't you love Finn at any point? You're accusing him of murder like, like it's a walk in the park, and not ending someone's life forever!"

"There is evidence beyond a shadow of a doubt that Finn did this, not to mention the fact that he 'ended someone's life forever', Brody's. It's part of my job to bring him to justice, and keep this from happening again, to you, or anyone else."

"And just for the record, you kindof lose respect for a guy once he's been pinned for murder. I've never loved Finn, and this doesn't change my opinion of him."

"Noted." She's processing. Once people can get over the denial, usually acceptance hits them hard. They overthink, blame themselves, wonder if they're just as bad, capable of those crimes. Some take it too far. When it gets to a matter of saving the world, that's when I step in.

That just makes this situation even more ironic.

Staring off into the mirrors, I notice my eyes, when they catch the light, become amber. My eyes are green, usually. Trailing the surface, I see Rachel fidgeting behind me, stuck between playing with her hair or picking at her fingers. Once she looks up, I want to smile. Tell her she'll be ok. That no one's going to break her talent.

"You'll be ok."

"Tell me something you don't just tell every person walking in here. It's ok to feel, you know? To be sad, upset."

"But I'm not sad, or upset, because Finn did something wrong."

Shit, the camera's still here. They'll know. I'm not supposed to have any personal ties to anyone in an investigation.

"I'm sure the cop who brought you here got a decent amount of information from you to clear your name, and I can vouch that you're ok. If you want, we can leave now, and that'll be the last of it for now. Once Finn is arrested, and behind bars, you can-"

"For God's sake, can you even look me in the eyes and say that?"

Steeling myself, I refrain from calling her "stubborn ass" to meet her eyes. Dark, pure, bold. Rachel's always been that way.

Look at me, talking about her like I see her everyday, and not just, when she's in danger of being murdered by her psycho ex-boyfriend?

She wants me to keep her gaze, and I do. Instinctively, I lick my lips before clearing my throat. I need a cigarette. Yeah, I'll blame it on that.

"I believe Finn Hudson murdered Brody Weston."

"That's an improvement."

An improvement? "I did what you wanted, what do you want from me?"

"Well your pupils are dilated, you're definitely nervous, but at least now you don't completely look like a lovesick puppy."

Fuck.

Sorry.

But really, fuck.

"I'm still the same Rachel, just a bit more famous. We were friends once, and we can catch up-"

"I don't like you." Said whilst looking at anything but her. This is starting to piss me off... Stupid Scotty not wanting to finish this off. God, this is embarrassing to go through.

"Um-right, so, place..."

Turning the camera off, I decide to keep the tape. Not like these guys care about being thorough, anyways.

"I can get The Plaza, if that's ok."

* * *

To be honest, I don't know what I'm going to do with the Big Apple's starlet. Shopping sprees and manicures?

"So, um... of course, you can do what you want, just uh, with me around. I mean, it'll be just like hanging out with a friend. I'm just a friend with a gun."

"All I heard was you saying we're friends." We're not.

"No." I state bluntly. "That's not happening."

"I'll have you know, I will have none of this good cop/bad cop routine, I could win a Tony award this year. You're my friend, and we're going shopping in the tourist area."

She's challenging me. I can do this, beat Rachel at her own game.

"You keep calling me your friend, and someone will be forced to wear an outfit two days in a row."

"I'm in theater, there's worse you could do."

Jesus, what do they do on Broadway? I'm starting to feel like God saved me from an embarrassing career, but then again, look where I am...

"You're right. I could steal all of your clothes and hide them."

"Hide my panties, you perv. I know you want to."

Taken back, I hold a hand to my chest. "Rachel, sweetie-"

"The pet names are only proving me right..."

I see how you're playing this God, giving me a sassy Rachel. Thanks for that. It could be worse, she's right. I'll take this as a good thing, that is, if you don't hate me for it.

"Maybe the guys do, but I don't mix business and pleasure. This is my job, and I don't take advantage of it. Aside from that, I'm sortof in love with someone else. So, yeah..."

Immediately she gapes at me, looking completely guilty. "I'm- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable. I was just making a joke."

"It's ok, she makes me feel young, you know? 22. Yeah, that's a good age."

"Um, sure, I guess, if we're counting."

I know, I'm weird, but I'm in a playful mood. It's not everyday you get an assignment to catch up with someone you only think about every single day.

"I knew she was trouble when she walked in. Shame on me, then-"

"Wait a second, are you just..." Shushing her, I gently place a finger to her lips.

I didn't even bother to look there. They're pink and soft and- wait, my story.

"Yes, it's Taylor. I promised to wait for her, once she's gotten over Harry. We're getting married on a yacht."

Don't you, don't you dare laugh at my second wife, should things never work out with us. Oh my gosh, she's mocking my fantasy wedding to Taylor Swift.

"God, Quinn... that's precious... it's got to be the best coming out speech I've ever heard."

Berry's pulling out the champagne, and I shake my head at the offer, feigning offense.

"You realize that it could totally happen. All I need to do is bust one of those crazy stalkers of hers, if she has any. Even easier, I could just jump on her tour bus or something."

Harshly swallowing a large amount, she clears her throat. "Well, I'm glad you're a lesbian. I've been around gay people my whole life, so I'm totally comfortable with you. Like, I'd let you kiss me, if you want. On the lips, just like a stage kiss."

I know what I should be getting from that whole drunken spiel is that after all these years, Rachel still can't hold liquor worth a damn, but I can't help being amused.

"Rach, you barely popped a bottle, and you've gone all 'Lesbian Drunk', on me. Do I have to-"

Holy shit! Rachel Berry's mouth. Is on me. Lip gloss and all.

Mine should move, right? But hell, I can't even move. I don't know what to do, and I'm pretty sure she's trying to slip me the tongue.

So I let her. God, she tastes good, and I don't even like alcohol. Sweet, a little bitter, and I don't know what, but I'm gonna label it Rachel, because it's perfect. Thank you God, for Rachel. Not alcohol. Maybe. Ok, thank you for alcohol, too.

It's over, before I can even fully process it happening, and I fight back annoyance. She's not gay, hell, she's not even sober. At least I can go home with a good memory.

"There. Now we can't be awkward, because we got the awkward kiss out of the way. You're gay, I'm fine with it, and if you didn't have the urge to sleep with me, I'd be offended, to be quite frank."

How the hell is drunk Rachel able to still talk in complete sentences?

"I'm, yeah, sure... ok?"

"Good, now you can be a normal person, and not a CIA agent. Gosh, I used to think you people never existed."

Wait, did she just say-? My bag.

I've been here the whole time, how the hell could she have went through my bags.

"Santaana has this, thin, where she taught me an Kurt how to search a bag when it goes through secury checks." Welp, there goes her speech. If she gets wasted, she could forget about it...

"It's fake. Just something I printed out of a laserjet printer. Looks pretty real though, eh?"

"Uhhuh, you have this thing, where you can't lie good. At leas to me. You can tell me anythin, this is a safe space. No judgement whasoever."

"Thanks, Rachel," I muse, guilty. If only I could tell you, everything. That, and not let you fall into a drunken stupor.

"Quinn?"

My head turns to the sound. It's comforting to hear my name from her, usually it's just 'Q'.

"Yeah?"

"Was it good enough? Did I do it right?"

Almost a decade on stage, and Rachel Berry is still that kid from glee club, wondering if she's any good. She was better than us all. We knew she wanted it more than us, to be the best. And she is the best.

"Best I ever had. No lie."

"Shit, you slep with Drake too? Who knew Quinn Fabray fancies celeberies with alcohol and relationship prolems?"

"Please go to sleep."

"I sleep naked."

Lord, I'm so done with this girl. She's going to kill me, if you don't get there first.

"Not- not tonight."

"Fine."

Tucking her into bed, I hop on the other side, turned in the opposite direction. She's not gonna be too hungover, champagne isn't that strong. But, this is Rachel...

"Jus a heads up, I'm sorey if you wake up with my han in your pans."

My eyes wide, I can't help but look back at her. Is this girl for real? Broadway sure brought out the best in Rachel, she doesn't seem to fear anything now.

And maybe it's my wishful thinking, but when I finally deem it safe to turn back over, I swear I can feel a smirk on her face. She turned over too.

* * *

It's eight in the morning, and I've just got back from a work call, and morning workouts. Geez, I hate this assignment. I can already see the annoying paparazzi today, fighting their way to get pictures of me. That's why I took on this job in the first place, to avoid the public eye.

Not with Rachel, though.

"Play the part, Q. It could be worse, at least you get to be cozy with a girl on Broadway. Gosh, those girls have to be flexible-"

"So you want me to bring you Finn, no problem. One photo opp, coming soon."

Once the door clicks, I just want to fall into bed, but I already know Rachel has to get up for her morning ritual, then probably go shopping, and rehearse around six. What stumps me is when I don't hear a shower running, or a treadmill moving, but see her sitting at the side of the bed, doing nothing.

"Uh, Rachel, I'm back. Is everything ok?"

Once she turns, I know everything can't be ok. Wiping her eyes, she tries to compose herself, and asks me where I went.

"Just morning exercise, report that you're ok, and prayer."

At this, she gives a small smile. "It's nice to have someone to talk to."

"Yeah, it keeps me sane. I'm- I'm sorry about Brody, I didn't know him well, but I can tell he meant a lot to you-"

"I told him he was a creep the last time I saw him. That I never wanted to see him again. I feel so bad, that I could've empathized, seen what he was going through. We worked together on stage, but I don't, understand..."

"It's not your fault-"

"No, you guys have already made it clear that it is my fault. My issue with this whole ordeal, is why Finn would go after him after all this time. I never said we were dating."

Holy time gap, I think we have a problem here. If Brody wasn't with Rachel, then Finn had no reason to kill him. That, or I'm missing some information, because nothing else links Finn to him otherwise.

"Wait, so did you and Brody work on this current play you're putting on?"

"We did, apparently your people got the memo before we did about his death. I just feel, I dunno, guilty, dirty..."

She's toying with her fingers again. Please don't cry again, I don't know how to handle that, especially because it's you. I've seen men plead for their lives, and not bat an eyelash. Don't give me those puppy sob eyes, because I can't handle that right now.

And there they are, puffy red Rachel eyes.

I wish I could comfort her, tell her how great a guy Brody was, give her stories of his heroics, but there aren't any. We're all unsung heroes, we come in, they wipe our slate clean, and it stays that way. Nobody really knows anyone personally, it's for our own protection. If any of us are tortured, it'd be useless to try and get any information from us.

"I suck at this comforting thing. And I feel awful about it, seeing you look like you just lost a Tony."

Catching on to the subject change, she falls in line. "No, I'd look much worse than this, trust me. I've always wanted this, and I fought hard to be the best, no less."

"I'm guessing. So, you slept ok? No hangover?"

"I hardly drink, but that was just to, you know? Stop thinking at a thousand miles a minute."

"Wait, you're aware that you do that?" Ducking an incoming pillow, I note that Rachel doesn't seem to care if I'm a cop, she'll still fight with me. And I like that. It's rebellious.

"Don't sass me." Would you look at that, hands on her hips, all dramatic.

"Nah, I think I like doing that. We can fight on our date too."

Her face just pulled a blank, while I waited for a pin to drop somewhere on the bottom floor.

"Date?"

I'm not sure if I've fully bitten off my lip, but I can't read her expression. I'm pretty sure bulging eyes mean shocked, not ready to attempt causing me bodily harm.

"Wow, someone changes teams fast, just yesterday-"

"Oh my gosh, don't tell me we had sex."

"You have no hangover, but you forget kissing me, and attempting to spoon me while I slept. That's really interesting..."

"I'm a smart drinker."

"I'll take your word for it. And the date's for the pap's. I have a good feeling if I'm seen on your arm, I'll be the next target."

"Wow, way to get my input on this decision. Ever thought maybe I was actually straight? It's kindof hard to play a lesbian if I don't like women."

"You can act Rachel, I have faith in you. That, or drink."

"Ass. I'm actually pansexual, and I while I'll probably end up having to go through with this, I don't appreciate being told last. And being used."

"Pan-what?"

"Liking people regardless of gender."

"Right. It's just for your protection. And you can dump me, and send me off into obscurity. We just have to look the part. Whatever you want, if you want me to get a guy-"

"No, I see this as both a challenge and opportunity to show off my acting skills. Plus your emsemble screams well dressed, hipster. The panama hat is perfect, you just need..." she pauses, rifling through her purse.

"These." Placing a pair of black RayBans on my face, she steps back to take it in.

"It's pointless with the paparazzi, but usually you can blend in with people if you've got shades on. They're a must."

"Check."

"Now this part is probably less uncomfortable, because of last night, but still, I'd understand if you felt uneasy about it."

I can't help but tilt my eyebrow at her, already nervous. I really thought Hollywood was joking about celebrities having sex with pretty much everyone. Now I'm just wondering if Rachel's hypersexual or something...

"We have to set boundaries, and see where we're comfortable touching. Like, I know I can kiss you, but that doesn't mean you'll go for me grabbing your ass."

"I thought that was common knowledge."

"New York is full of freaks. Don't assume anything about the people here."

Her hands start moving, and noticing what she's attempting, I wrap my arms around her waist, so she can hug my shoulders.

"Hugs are safe."

At this angle, I can see us in the mirror, and I have to agree. It looks normal, like we've done this a million times before, not just the few and far between times we actually have.

She's blushing, and it eases the tension, to know that she cares about this. I didn't think Rachel could be nervous, not after making it on the biggest stage in the entire world.

I know it's my turn, but my heart is lodged somewhere between my chest and stomach. I'm pretty sure this is like romantic chicken, and if I participate, she's going to flip a switch on me, yelling, "Aha!" Still, it's a game, which I'm playing. So I lean my forehead against hers. Call me a chicken shit. Don't care.

"Cute gestures."

With just her index fingers, she pokes playfully at my cheeks, alternating between the two, to make a popping noise.

"I see I've now become your personal drumset."

"Does it irk you?"

Not really. Rachel breaks the ice well, shame I used to think she was incredibly awkward. I think I love New York.

"No, I think I get where this is going," I note, nuzzling her nose. "It's like best friends, just with more kissing."

"Exactly," she replies, with a tap to my nose. Deep breath, and a kiss to her cheek. Bracing myself, I wait for the storm to come.

Instead, a gentle wind. She kisses back.

"I think that you'd make for a perfect girlfriend."

"I thought I was yours. My bad."

Mocked, Rachel holds a hand to her heart. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you even ask. What makes you think I'd just agree to be your girlfriend?"

Fighting the deep urge to facepalm, I simply state, "No."

"This is theater, and I'm your teacher. If you're gonna do this, we better well do this right. The whole nine yards."

"Fine, Rachel, will you go out with me?"

"On your knees."

"Pardon?"

"Get on your knees and ask me, and I'll consider your offer to be formal."

"Fuck you, I'm not doing all that."

Oops. I meant that as a joke. Rach, I wasn't serious, wait- why are you giving me sketchy looks? God, where did you find this chick?

"Excuse me?"

Weakly, I defend my answer. "I said fuck you. No way."

"Is that what it'll take for you to give me what I want?"

I see how it is, God. Send me to save this girl's life, just for her to cut my life short. Death via heart attack. Rachel freaking Berry's going to kill me with words. I'm not sure anymore if she's just fucking with me, or actually trying to get in my pants. Really. But, if I had to answer her question, bluntly, yes. A MILLION times YES.

"I don't know what to say to that."

"Say yes."

"Yes."

Wait, no! That was a trap!

"Good minion." Grabbing my shirt, she tugs me, pushing me against the bed with small effort.

"Hold on, what're you-?"

Using just her pointer finger, she slowly tips my head against the bed. Not gonna lie, if this is gonna happen, I'm willing to get shot in the leg right after for my insubordinance. Rachel may be a pain in the ass, but she's still Rachel freaking Berry.

"Shh, class is in session."

* * *

I can't help but feel a little guilty riding an elevator with one of the elderlies on our floor. Lips glued shut, my eyes try to look anywhere but at her. I'm so fucking screwed. I can hear Scotty now.

"Q, we told you to pretend to be fucking her, that doesn't give you actual permission to fuck her!"

Of course, she's got some victorious, smug, "I messed with your bad cop routine" smile going on, but I'm gonna stay bitter.

Bzz. Texting me in an elevator? Ignoring the juvenile nature of it, I take the bait.

"You can't be mad at me."

"I think I will. This lady looks ready to drag me to Church."

"God will forgive you."

"That does me no good if she decides I need an exorcism."

The elevator dings, and I can feel a glare, as the older woman passes. Waiting for Rachel to walk out first, I'm shocked to feel warmth in my hands.

"I'm not easy. Please don't think I do that all the-"

"I don' ..."

"Are you going to get in trouble?"

Later? I'm sure Scotty can cope with losing out on something. He sent me, I'm just doing my job.

"Eh, if I do, I'll be alright. Don't worry about it," I reassure her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

"Did you... enjoy it?"

Did I enjoy it. Really. She has to ask, as if the whole floor couldn't just assume that themselves. I'm almost positive Rachel Berry wants to turn me into a tomato. Use your humor, use those words.

"Did you?"

Or that. That works too.

"It achieved the desired effect."

I was about to nitpick her choice of words, until I see the look in her eyes. She's hoping I'll say the same thing.

Thumbing her hand I kiss it, close to her knuckle.

"I'd say that's just about right."

I'm learning; apparently that answer was good. I can do this. She pushes the 'door open' button', taking a firm grip of my hand. The lobby is quiet for the most part, and I politely smile at the doorman, as he holds the door for us.

Berry's silent, until we step out.

"He's probably gonna send that news to the universe, so any places you wanna hit first?"

My choice? I'm honestly not much of a shopper, but I never got to see much of New York, even in high school.

"I've always wanted to see the Statue of Liberty."

She beams at the response, nodding sagely. "We can get up close -not inside, because of the storms- if you can help me knock off one thing off of my bucket list."

"Legally I can't help you commit a crime, Rachel, so don't go there..."

"Nonsense, I wasn't even thinking of that. I just wanna buy something from Tiffany's."

Ok, that sounds harmless. Hardly bucket worthy.

"As a member of the opposite sex. Don't worry, just watch me. It's gonna be great."

* * *

Of course Berry of all people could pull off being a man, just as well as being a chick. This is insane; at some point I have to wonder if I'm the babysitter and not the help.

"How I look babe?" she asks, in her best manly voice. Not gonna lie, that was a bit creepy, and funny.

"You look like Justin Bieber, could you pull your pants up at any rate?" It's amusing yes, but the pants are a complete turn-off. How people wear them like that, not my taste.

"Tay, stop hatin' on my swag, you know you want me."

"Never say that sentence again."

"Bout to drop a ten on a Rolex, what you want?"

"English, Biebs, English."

"Hello there, do you need any help?" Thank God someone arrived, or I would've pantsed Rachel in a heartbeat.

"Uh, yeah. I'm jus' browsin' for somethin, ya know?"

Poor guy. Sees a dude in a hat, tee and baggie jeans, and he pities me. I can tell he's trying hard not to be judgemental, so I motion towards rings, pretending to need help.

"Aight bae, I can wait ova hea!"

"Yes, Miss, are you looking for anything specific?"

"This is gonna sound a little funny, but that weird guy over there, is a she. She's just being silly, I dared her to come in here wearing that outfit. I was wondering if you have any kindof rings that say, 'I love you, dumbass'?"

"No, but I can engrave it on the ring of your choice? Matching rings are definitely in style, here, let me show you- ah, maybe a sapphire, or emerald, to match your eyes?"

Musing, I look over the rubies, instantly drawn to them.

"Those."

"Sure, and that's with the engraving?"

Looking back at Rachel, who's pretending to be looking at large Rolex's, I nod.

He smiles, and heads to the back, after I've given him ring sizes. Once his head pops out of sight, a pair of small hands wrap around my waist, and I almost jerk at the kiss to my neck.

"What'd you get Li'l Swaggie? Is Selena gonna jump out of the bag?"

"With your luck, she would."

Smirking as if it were the fourth of July, Rachel almost breaks character, holding back laughter. Once she's composed, she clears her throat, and reclaims that same husky voice.

"Bout to get a Rollie on the wrist, whatchu know about iiit?"

* * *

"I can't believe you bought me a ring, and don't expect me to be impressed."

"You bought a Rolex."

"In normal cases, people get rings to get married."

"You bought a Rolex."

"And people certainly don't inscribe 'I love you dumbass' on their lover's ring."

"You bought a- I was being polite. That doesn't make us lovers."

"It does when we're sucking face in a nearby dressing room." Ignoring my protests of being a highly trained member of the FBI, therefore not having to put up with shit, she continues. "So, have I been a generous tour guide? Do you think I have shown you a taste of the Big Apple?"

Stopping to notice the scenery, I can't help but take it in deeper. The water shining in the distance, the exquisite archetecture, New York is definitely a special place.

"You think it's great now, it's absolutely gorgeous at night, believe it or not. And there's the best pizza place around the corner, oh Quinn, one bite and muah!" She's kisses her fingers for emphasis, "you'll fall in love."

"Pizza's vegan friendly?" I only remember the million times Rachel would remind Finn about it, and pizza, doesn't have meat in it...

"Very. Though I have slipped to vegetarian. It's very hard to keep up energy without certain foods."

"You seem to have it pouring out of every orifice in your body," I state, honestly.

Chuckling, she shrugs and moves closer to lean her head on my shoulder. I'm in the fastest moving place in the country, heck the world, but time seems to slow down. Rachel wasn't lying about paparazzi, they hide everywhere, some even brave enough to approach us with cameras. With my luck, we'll make TMZ a few headlines.

"This place is what I call home. I mean, it's crazy, and a lot of people hate it here, but everyone is real here, whether rude or polite. They give it character, a personality. You can be anything here, because this is a place for dreamers."

A perfect place for someone who wakes up every morning, looking to win a Tony and a Grammy in the same year. I'd reminisce more, but I get an unsettling feeling we're being watched, and not by cameras. Sensing my body stiffen, Rachel lifts her head.

"I didn't say anything offensive, did I?"

"No," I answered, disappointed. Usually my instincts are right, but I don't see anything out of the normal- is that?

Wow Finn, way to not seem desperate. I wouldn't have pegged him for a stalker, too...

"Rachel, Rachel, hey! You won't believe it, I got a promotion! Queens college picked up my application , and- Quinn? I haven't seen you in forever!"

He offers a hug, and before I can refuse, gives me a quick smothering, before doing the same to Rachel. It's nothing out of the normal. Except I have good reason to think he's a murderer.

Still, his eyes scream innocence.

"I'm sorry, how are you guys? Is Rachel giving you a tour of the place? She's a really good host."

Rachel is still not used to compliments, and quietly thanks Finn for the praise.

"Yeah, Quinn's never seen the Statue of Liberty, so I had to take her here. Totally worth a bucket list spot. We caught up, and she, we..."

Her hands take to twisting the ring on her finger, a non-subtle hint. Taking the cue, I keep shut, and let her tell the story.

Noticing the rings match, his jaw drops, to show a face I've imitated many times before. Confused Finn. "Oh my God, you got married in Vegas? Am I supposed to congratulate you, or-?"

"No, but we're, kindof a thing."

"Oh..."

My smile is genuine, as is the face I make when she kisses my cheek. Abruptly, she pulls me into a hug, blocking us from Finn, to whisper in my ear.

"Do you trust me?"

That's a hard question. I don't trust anyone, but I can't tell her that. Maybe she knows how to get a rise out of him, or help me get a lead. The fact that he's found us is a bit more than coincidence, yet it's not enough. I need more.

"Yeah, why?"

"Let me talk to him alone-"

"I can't leave you alone, that's kindof defeating the purpose no?"

Her nails tickle the back of my neck, and I almost want to agree. She's an actress, she won't screw this up. I trust her too much. But I need her to trust me with her life.

"Rehearsals are in two hours. Pretend to leave, buy a snack, and I'll walk around some of the stores. Change and follow us."

Panning the local areas, I spot the biggest one, Macy's. It's got a few floors, it works.

"Go to Macy's. I'll be in the women's section."

"Of course. No need to try and replicate my performance."

With a cheeky grin, she turns, before I can give a rebuttal. Finn's always been awkward, but he looks out of place here. I mean, he's definitely upgraded his wardrobe, still... Lima seems more his speed. Shifting around, and peering around, his eyes light up when our conversation ends.

"I'm sorry Finn, it's just plans-"

"Yeah, I've got to get back to the office, and I'm gonna miss this one over here. Take care of her for me?"

"Sure! I understand, completely. What is it that you're doing nowadays?"

"FBI agent. Not as cracked up as it seems." I reply, shortly. Lies don't have to be complex, you just have to be confident when telling them.

Satisfied, he makes the usual James Bond reference that I can only smile at. Turning to leave, I want to give Rachel a typical peck on the lips, and make a getaway. I'm not sure what happened, if it was me, or Rachel, or just that Finn was there. That idea got tossed rather quickly for my tongue slipping into her mouth, hands hovering dangerously close to below the belt. I'm not sure what the clingy jealous moment was for, but I'm kissing Rachel. It should count for something, right? He's not the one with her.

When we part, I can tell she knows. How she can just evoke emotions from me with ease, kindof sucks. The only thing to really do that is music.

But no terrorist in their right mind would try to kill Taylor Swift, so I'm ok. That, or think to play sappy love songs on a car radio while telling me I'm pregnant, and Finn's the daddy.

Self, shut up. You're starting to sound like Rachel.

My hands are still hugging her waist, asking her to be safe. Don't try anything stupid. Text me if you have to cut something short. It looks a lot like two young lovers playfighting, telling the other, "no you let go", "no you", until we both do.

It's uncomfortable leaving, but I know without the tag along, I can focus on the details and surroundings. Look for something unusual. Making a note to keep an eye on Finn only, his body language is elated. He's telling her the good news. Good for you Finn, finally found something to do with yourself that you're not bitching about.

Rachel's part interested, probably scared to see Finn in a new light. She's searching for the same thing I was, his eyes. Assuming is the worst thing, but killing someone changes you. It's almost like losing a small piece of your soul. After a while, it becomes second nature, to the criminal, it's maybe a fetish, way to be dominant, defiant. To an agent, it's protecting someone else. If it means keeping Rachel alive, I'd shoot a pregnant woman witholding information. And the guy who gave her it. Because shit, I have to find a way to sleep after doing that.

Slipping into the shopping center, I pull out the nearest black pants in my size, and grab a matching blazer. They're chatting about him, so I can afford to miss the talking. Plus, I can change in a heartbeat. Paying for the outfit, I run into the nearby fitting room, and I can hear Rachel's voice getting louder, outside the room. Apparently she does this a lot to Finn, goes shopping, and asks him to wait on her. I wouldn't do it, even if it got me good press.

Her feet are under my door, and I quickly hop onto the seat in the room, while she thanks Finn again for letting her try on a dress on such short notice.

I'm almost positive that's his feet, shuffling away to the entrance, to wait on her. Once the door clicks, I'm met with a triumphant Rachel.

"Told you."

"Told me what? He's not off the hook yet..."

"I know that, that wasn't what I was referencing. We're in a dressing room."

"Fitting room."

"They're synonyms. And I'm pretty sure the only reason we didn't make out in front of Finn is because I'm a lady."

"I'm acting."

"Oh, well then, I'll just go and ask Finn how he feels about going to dinner after rehearsals-"

Getting fed up with her 'take charge' attitude, I pick her up, leaning her against the door, while I place heated kisses against her neck. Weaving her hands in my hair, she moans appreciatively.

"He- hey, just so you know, business woman Quinn looks totally hot too. Your ass fits perfectly in these pants."

It's the girl in me that pulls away to ask, "Really?"

Her eyes look past me to the mirror in front of her, observing the sight. There a few exaggerated "hmms", and "huhs", before she decides to look back at me.

"Yeah, really."

* * *

Careful to keep Rachel in my line of vision, I circle around the dumpster where I left my gun, taped under the opening in the bottom. Feeling around, I pull it out, quickly shoving it in my bag. Sure I can protect myself in a hand to hand fight close range, but when it comes to distance, guns help. That, and the wall.

Their conversation's taking a turn for the serious, but I'm not close enough to get what either of them are saying. Whatever it is, Finn's not too happy. I told her to be careful, most people don't take too kindly to being accused of murder. Uneasy about leaving her there, I pull out my phone, typing, and erasing accusations. Finally, I just choose to ask:

"What's going on?"

Damn, that made it worse. I want to go over there, and clear things up, but my plans are derailed.

_Incoming call: Rachel Berry._

Ducking into an expensive store, I answer the phone, with a warm greeting.

"Hey baaaby," she emphasizes, probably to annoy her companion, "I'm sorry to bother you at work, but I just wanted you to know I miss you, and that Finn's been kind enough to drop me off at my rehearsal. Is that ok with you?"

She's said enough, but not much to go by. In my field, that's perfect.

"Yeah, and I miss you more. It's boring here, I can't wait to get home."

"I want a nice massage when we get back. And let's save a date to have dinner with Finn, he's interested in catching up with us, especially you."

She's handing the phone to Finn, probably in an attempt to include him, and prove she's not ignoring him.

"Uh, hey Quinn. I'm here with Rachel, and we were talking about getting together to have dinner. You know, to celebrate you being back. I hope you don't mind-"

"No, of course not. Friday works?"

"Yup. I know this great place, you'll love it. Good pasta, and wine, great service."

"Sounds great Finn. I'll keep it open."

"Awesome, here's Rachel."

Shuffling occurs, and I can hear them arguing slightly. She's asking if he's satisfied that she wasn't lying, while he's insisting that it's strange that all of this could change overnight.

"Hello?"

"He sounds upset."

"It's fine. Nothing to worry about. But I was serious about that massage. Will I see you later, at the Plaza?"

"One Quinn and a massage are ready to for delivery."

"I love you."

"Love you... too..."

That feels dirty, lying like that. Something about it, just worries me that one day, I will fall in love, and this stuff will come around full circle. Even though I have the worst luck finding it.

That could be my punishment, being so close to Rachel, but not being able to call her mine.

* * *

Only four minutes into a rehearsal, and I'm almost positive Rachel's director is insane. After the twenty questions with me, with me having to reassure him no one's being arrested for drug use or possession, he lets me in to witness this. The weirdest fucking remake of "RENT" ever.

"You have to feel Mimi feelings, Rachel. Her desire, the chills! The ache for love, drugs. Jesse! Come here, with the candle."

Looking hard, I notice, is it? The one and only, Jesse St. James.

He's stern, until the music hits, and they're flirting. Switch, the candle's lit. She blows it out. Switch again, she blows it out again. This "Light My Candle" song could pass as some form of foreplay. Jesse's focused intently, doting like a shy lover. Reluctant, but definitely interested. That's Roger, apparently.

I hear a creak, and look around, until I notice one of the lights shift a little. As far as I can tell, rehearsals are closed for the most part. One of the stage hands comes onto the catwalk to check the problem. Thing is the light's getting worse, if not better.

I'm on my feet, walking over to the stage, while Rachel's insane director gives passionate criticism, trying not to cause a commotion. Once the crew has seen me, a second passes, and a loud snap causes Jesses to pull Rachel, hard.

My instinct is to run to the back, to catch the guy, while the director is shouting about the quality of the building. This building's structure is fine. Running behing the curtain, I climb the stairs, only to find the guy's slid down a rope, and is jetting towards the door. I wasn't intending on using it, but I have to. One shot brings him down.

"Oh my God, Quinn!"

"It's a tranquilizer dart." I breathe, gripping the nearest rope to slide down. Once I hit the ground, I jet to the aisleway, where I hit the guy. He's wearing stage hand gear, except for the ski mask. Yanking the mask off, I met an unrecognizable face. His shirt reads that his name is Carlos.

His dead weight makes it a struggle, and amid the gasps and other noises, shock. Rachel's upset, Jesse keeps suggesting she see a doctor, the director is cursing in French. When I finally drag him to the steps on the stage, everyone's eyes fall to "Carlos".

"This guy..." I struggle, before setting him on the stairs, "rigged the light to drop. He works here?"

"Aya, that's Carlos! He was probably trying to fix the light!"

"Why'd he try to run then?"

At this, Jesse laughs, and I remember why I didn't like him when I first met him. "He probably thought you were gonna deport him."

Rachel forces a smirk when he turns back to her, and I roll my eyes. Not funny at all.

Thinking quickly, I ask if anybody's got water. One girl passes me a bottle, which I throw in his face. Nothing.

I doubt anyone here has smelling salts.

"Anyone got a sweatband or something?" One whiff of any of these guys socks is enough to snap him out of his nap... And of course Jesse casually slides his shirt off. He would be that guy in the movie.

Reluctantly, I take the thrown shirt, shoving the pit stains into the unconscious dude's nose. He jerks up immediately, and is confused.

"What, what happened? Why am I all wet?" Carlos will get that in a second. First, I have to establish if he's fully conscious.

"Do you know the day of the week?"

"It's Tuesday."

"What's your name."

"I'm Carlos."

"Quinn. Wanna explain why you attempted dropping a stage light on the leads in this play?"

"It.. it was an accident. I was trying to hold onto it!"

"Then why'd you run, as soon as it dropped? You didn't do anything wrong."

"..."

"..."

"Please don't arrest me."

"Just tell me the truth."

Whatever he tries to say to excuse himself, I'll know if it's a lie. Small tics, body language, even words can be a tell.

"It was supposed to drop on Jesse. Someone paid me to do it, they said with him out, the understudy would get his spot."

There's a lie somewhere in there. Cutting to the chase, I ask, "who's Jesse's understudy?"

A man with similar build to Jesse, but jet black hair steps out. Plainly, I ask him if he paid Carlos to drop a stage light. He shakes his head.

"I thought so," I mutter, pulling out my cuffs from my back pocket.

Lazily, I read the man his rights, before calling the police to pick him up. Finn had to do this, this plan just wreaks of his influence. He was upset before leaving Rachel, likely over her dating someone that's not him.

Rehearsals are cut short, and I consult with the director, apologizing for the disturbance. When Rachel finally comes down from the stage, she's nervous, hugging her shoulders. I already know what she wants to say. She doesn't have to. This job isn't about who's right or wrong, it's about keeping her alive.

"I'm guessing you still want that massage."

Her head bobs vociferously, and once I'm pulled tightly into a hug, I know I'm in for a long night.

* * *

It's 4 am, and I can still remember yesterday. How I'm supposed to move on from it, I'm not sure, but I have to do something. We're going to be Hollywood's it couple, while I try to figure out who's behind all of this craziness. If this wasn't some sort of immaculate plan, I would be none the wiser. Because Rachel Berry had to plan part of this out for her own benefit.

Still, it was insane. I can help but smile at one of the best days of my life. I'm sure she planned parts of it. Like making it into TMZ's highlight reel for going into a jewelry story dressed as a brunette Justin Bieber.

After watching it on tv, it was actually kindof cute. Minus the offensive jokes they made, I still wonder how that company makes money off of these things.

Then of course, the public relations issue. Rachel's manager pitched a raging fit over the news, which we had to clear up for her. After encouraging her that the lesbian community would be supportive of this move, and that New York is largely progressive, she was able to get her down to an almost normal heartrate. None of that phased me too much, what got me was trying to explain that I don't like her, while giving her an intimate massage.

_"Mmm, you know, for someone who isn't interested in me, you give good massages."_

_"It's an acquired skill."_

_"You're in the CIA, I hardly see how this could be, mmm, useful..."_

_Just for stress relief, general sanity, and the likes._

_"I'm not in the CIA."_

_"Because you're seducing me with your hands, it's a trick. So tell me, what FBI agent can afford The Plaza?"_

_"I can. Not exactly a spender, to be honest."_

_"Are you going to go through the denial phase? Because it'd be wonderful to just jump over that stage."_

_"I don't know-"_

_"And there it is..."_

_My hands loosen, as she moves, turning over. Look away. Look down, just don't look str-_

_Damn. Her body just strikes me, and I force myself to meet her gaze._

_"It's quite obvious that you're attracted to me, which is both completely deserved-"_

_"How humble-"_

_"... and insanely adorable. You look at me like I'm the runt puppy in the litter, like I'm special. Hell, you got mauled by a bunch of paparazzi for me, that deserves some sort of medal or something."_

_This is awkward. She's pretty much cutting off my options without any of my say or word for the matter. That's why I like her, for being assertive and knowing what she wants, but honestly, right now it's a double edged sword._

_"Nothing can happe-."_

_"You're an agent, you're always going to have people who want to kill you. I can say the same thing about myself. I wouldn't have let my bodyguards take the time off if I didn't trust you with my life. You travel, I travel, whatever the excuse is, I'll always have something that means more than all of that."_

_By now, she's slipped on a robe, and sitting next to me. If I can deflect things, maybe she'll let it go. Lie. Something other than pursue whatever this is._

_"What's that?"_

_"Everyone here is secretive, but with you, this morning, I didn't have to ask a thing. The way you touch, kiss, love, I felt it. And you'd do anything for it to happen again. Because Quinn Fabray is a romantic."_

_Our hands met at some point. Of course she's right, she'd know these kindof things, seeing as I have a hard time lying to her. So, I decide to take the honest, straightforward route she's been taking._

_"I wouldn't be able to make sure you were safe all the time. And I'd hate that."_

_"My bodyguard is a trained former SEAL."_

_"That's not bulletproof. I'm bulletproof."_

_"Then I'd say we're at an impasse. We have two options."_

_Just the mere fact that I'm waiting on her reply shows that this girl brings out the seventeen year old me._

_"Now, you could just pretend that you have no feelings for me. I'll still pursue you, because I've always found you to be a catch, and quite honestly worth the chase-"_

_Not used to taking so many compliments at a time, well, at this age, I cut her hour long rant before I turn various shades of embarrassed._

_"Options, Rachel. What are the other ones?"_

_"Right, well, there's that one. And that's no fun. Or, we could, just have fun with it. No labels."_

_That's what she had with Brody. An open relationship. Obviously, I'm taking a no._

_"Any other choices?"_

_"There's always that one where you could stop being a pussy and see that I've liked you for a while, and you like me. Convenient, eh?"_

_Rachel Berry, always the bold one. She's right, but that doesn't mean anything. People would kill her to get to me. And I can't have that. Still, that victorious smile..._

_It fades when she notices the look on my face._

_"I'm not gonna lie to you Rachel, I want that, but-"_

_"I know."_

_Somehow that suffices as an answer, yet still terrifies me. What exactly does she know?_

_"Know what?"_

_"Your tattoo, on your hip. Same one that Brody had. We were only together for a little while, but he figured out a way to make it work. Like a real family. Shut off his problems once he came home. It was like having a double life."_

_"But you knew-"_

_"I didn't know then, but he was good at hiding it. He'd leave, and come back a different man, first excited and happy, then silent and mysterious. I'd try to figure it out, which didn't work. I didn't want to believe that he was cheating, or in the least, selling his body for money."_

_Brody. There's my excuse._

_"I think, you just need some time to figure things out for yourself. You have to, mourn, cry a little-"_

_"But you don't."_

_"I didn't know him like you did."_

_"We dated a long time ago, and you're deflecting. He wasn't that good at hiding things, especially from Santana. She told me that's what the tattoo meant. All of you get it. The only reason you're here, is because you think Finn knows something important like that."_

_Rachel still had a hard time saying they dated. She's using this conversation to distract from things herself._

_"What do you think?"_

_"Finn is too stupid to figure that out, much less to commit murder."_

_See, I can believe that, because part of me sees that too. Finn just runs on basic emotions, and too many things look way too suspicious for it to be him alone. I remember Rachel hinting at him being framed. Anyone could've stolen his CD to plant it there._

_But it had to be Finn._

_"I think so too. But if we're gonna be honest, you can't tell anyone about me. Honestly, I could get thrown out after this is all over."_

_Broadway diva dating high ranked CIA agent? TMZ would drool over that headline._

_A gentle squeeze of my hand, before she speaks._

_"Never. Just don't think that I'd use it to ask you out or anything..." she coos._

_Jokingly, I reply, "Sure, like you aren't trying to get me in a tight suit, held up by wires."_

_"Shut up! You're not supposed to know that, how did you-?"_

_"It's my go to costume for work on Halloween, minus the wires. Often gets me looks from the guys, but then again I don't care about them."_

_"All that, and I still can't date you?"_

_"You can..."_

_"Oh, there's a catch, or a but somewhere."_

_How Rachel makes me feel vulnerable, yet safe in the same sentence, is beyond me. I can tell her things, a little more than I tell others, just not things filed 'classified'. We could work. That, or she could break my heart, leaving me to dive into my work like a hermit. Still, a life without risks, that wasn't what Quinn Fabray signed up for._

_"Tell me why you like me."_

_Her eyes beam, as she cups the back of my neck to kiss me, for what feels like the millionth time today. A million times, still isn't enough. When she pulls away and begins to speak, is actually when I start blushing._

_Apparently, I am really good looking, and a quick learner, but wholesome. Emphasis on wholesome. Cute. And I made the most come hither-like of looks whenever Rachel performed during glee rehearsals... Unless the songs were about Finn or Puck. Then I looked like I was about to puke..._

* * *

Putting the DVD away, I stick it back into the envelope, and back into my suitcase. Carlos held to his alibi, I figured, but the boys in D.C. sent me the disk. Sometimes I hate evidence;what's in it doesn't say much, either. Just that Finn's had a lot of girls. Probably hookers. Sure it makes him a criminal, just not a killer.

Still, naked Finn is disturbing.

Rachel's pretending to sleep, so as not to disturb me. Fuck it, I'll indulge, I need some brain bleach, anyways.

Her shoulder is warm against my lips, as I sweetly whisper, "Wakey, wakey Berry..."

"You're so cheesy, God, Quinn..."

Doesn't matter, it worked. Her arms pull back on my neck, as she turns to kiss me.

"Mmm... you work too hard Quinn. You're up, like, all night... found anything yet?" she asks, through yawns.

"I do, and no. Has he been acting any differently around you?"

"Nope... just wishing you'd break up with me."

Something's gotta make him tick. We practically flaunted ourselves on our date with him, and still, no reaction. I can arrest him on suspicion, but a lawyer could easily get him out with our evidence. And questioning...

"Quinn, I hope this constant spacing out is just you thinking, and not a sign of drug use."

"I'm trying to think," I murmur, my voice trailing off, as she softly kisses my neck. "How to deal with normal people. I usually deal with insane, highly trained people. I don't wanna kill Finn, just arrest him and be done with it."

"Yeah, so I'm just gonna ignore the part about you killing people, and just skip to something more pleasant and helpful. Finn's a man."

All these years, and I've never marveled at Rachel's genius. With her deductive reasoning, this case could've been solved already.

"Don't stare at me like that! You didn't even let me finish!" she shrieks, slapping my arms. Holding her waist, I try not to laugh at her serious expression. Because she's a diva.

"Men get jealous, which Finn does, or used to do. It gets worse if they try to hurt me. I remember Brody told me one time, when he beat him up."

Trust me, Brody would've kicked Finn's ass, if he weren't in civilian mode.

"I'll try to bring him in for questioning, but I have to watch him closely. My boss just wants to make sure he isn't a big threat."

"Then where does that leave me?"

I can't leave Rachel alone, and she can't be in the room... But, she can be on the other side.

"You get to see how a two way mirror works."

Her confusion as she mouths the words, "two way, what?" is adorable. When I mention "Law and Order", she nods, and I'm almost positive Rachel's still lost.

She's fighting sleep, both wanting to help, and entertain me. We're both half asleep, her from exhaustion, me from studying all this crap.

"And don't forget to slip in that you're sleeping with me. Easiest way to get him mad."

"Sounds good."

Playfully, I squeeze at her ass, earning me a glare.

"Don't-Ahhh, Quinn!"

My hands are cold, but I do it again, more firmly, making her jump and move closer to me in the process.

"You're so warm, Rach..." I know we're both tired. That doesn't stop me from exploring her body, like a blank canvas. Ah, the benefits of sleeping in the nude. She wasn't lying about that, she really does it.

With a kiss to her naval, I trail kisses to her chest, rolling her breasts in my hands. One tug to my neck, and I smile mischeviously. Now she's in the mood.

Rachel kisses like an actress, like someone stuck Leonardo DiCaprio in a room with her, and told her to make out with him until he won an Oscar. That kinda good, if that makes sense. I'm pretty sure she learned it from Brody, or someone out here, because Finn wasn't exactly memorable. And gosh, her boobs feel like silk heaven. I give God props for that one.

She pulls away, and I panic. I didn't hurt her, did I?

Puffy lips, wide eyed smile, not-exactly-there look. Nothing out of the sorts...

"I'm sorry, I don't wanna be rude."

"You're not being rude, is everything ok?"

"Yeah, I just- I need you to... Um... do something for me?"

Puzzled, I give her a hard look before realizing: Rachel's not used to being given this kind of attention. Still, she's a lady, through and through. But I'm pretty sure, I know what she wants.

Laying her down flat, I leave wet kisses all over her neck, slipping a hand between her legs. It never fails to amaze me, that I can make Rachel feel this good, when I hardly do much for it to happen. With an appreciative rub, I lower my head to stick out my tongue, licking her inner folds. Hands grip tightly, and Rachel's tilted her head back, letting out a low moan.

Don't have to tell me twice. Her legs hand over my shoulders, as my tongue massages around her clit, making lines and shapes here and there. All the while, she shudders and shakes uncontrollably, making perfect sounds. Rachel can moan in pitch, I'd bet my life she does. Whenever she can look down, I try to make my eyes reflect how I feel inside, I love her. And I don't want to be anywhere else.

Once my tongue flicks at the small nub, I have to grip her waist from her bucking too hard. She's close, I can feel her clenching her body against me. And Jesus, she's a screamer, but I'm the one causing it. She's a twitching, uncontrollable mess around me. So I move my tongue faster, I want her to feel it. That literal rollercoaster where she's fighting with me to stop, while begging me not to. Which, of course, she does.

It's beautiful to watch her orgasm, with a small laugh seconds later. I pop my head up to kiss her, relishing the feeling. Rachel can't talk at least, that's a good sign. Talking's overrated sometimes, anyways.

* * *

**Part I is up! Read and review?**


	2. Part II

**Disclaimer: Don't own glee, yada, yada.**

**For the guest who wrote "there is no male sexism...", Quinn was pointing out the **_**female **_**sexism in the workplace, and how men tend to feminize men who aren't completely masculine.**

Looking back at the mirror, I can almost see Rachel through the other side, eyes glued to our conversation. So far, I haven't even made a dent in Finn. I'm still trying to figure out how he could've done all of this, without getting caught.

"So Finn, this is basic questioning. In the event of a crime, we question everyone related to the person, related or not. You remember Brody, right?"

The good cop route. Rachel would be proud, seeing as at some point in her life she really loved Finn. Ew. Moving on.

"Yeah, well not too much, he dated Rachel for a while a couple of years ago- Did something happen to him?"

_There_. That's all I needed to hear.

"I just need to know what you were doing March 30th this past year."

"Quinn, you know me- I did _not_ kill Brody. That day I was home, making lesson plans, anyone can tell you."

His hands are twitching, people tend to be nervous around authority, but usually you can weed a good person out. They're willing to cooperate with you to set the record straight.

"Listen, I don't wanna go through this laundry list as much as you do, I'm just trying to do my job. If you can give me some kind of proof you weren't around the night of Brody's murder, we're done here."

"I was home."

"Can anyone confirm that?"

"Yeah, I live in an apartment, so my neighbors usually hear me in the house." He hands me a number after scrawling it down quickly, and I stick it in his file.

That wasn't even the interview, really. Just formalities. Rachel encouraged me to push his buttons to see where he'll go. Nothing's been too hesitant, or rushed. He reacted normally to everything.

But still, something's not right. Either the evidence is wrong, or Finn's innocent.

"I'm gonna run this number later, but that's pretty much all the info I need."

"So, um, I'm not arrested, right?"

"No, you're not. Anyways, I've gotta get back. I promised Rachel-"

"Yeah, you never told me about that, how you asked her out. I mean, I just never thought you and her, of all people would, ya know..."

It's not that impossible. What's more mind boggling is how we both managed to think at one point that Finn was the one for us.

"Rachel's very persuasive, I thought you knew that. We sort of had, unfinished business." Gosh, why am I telling him this? I mean, it's not a lie, but it shouldn't count. We were all drunk off our asses, everybody was gay that night. Except anyone who was actually gay, I heard something about Blaine being turned straight for two seconds.

"Wait, she remembers the party? Didn't we all get hammered and kiss random people?"

But she kissed me. Funniest shit ever, if I wasn't a sentimental drunk. That stupid kiss kept me up many a night, at the Fabray household. Of course my mom didn't care, but my dad?Can't afford ruining his reputation at work. None of this, experimenting. He probably wouldn't have liked what happened with me and Santana, then. Now I can't drink at all, with all the shit I've seen, no thanks.

"Try getting her to forget that. She tells me dating could soften me up, let me feel human emotions. I'm starting feel like there's a subliminal message she's getting at. Like she wants me to get up on stage and sing again."

"I mean, I could see you acting, on stage. Heck, even I tried it."

Finn, an actor. I should've considered that, good actors don't need to lie.

"Thanks, but I don't think a cop would be a great lead in "Rent", just saying."

"Yeah. So, you've adjusted to Rachel's house routine? It doesn't bother you?"

Back to Rachel, that wasn't so hard...

"No, girls have their own bathroom rituals. I kindof get it, she just needs extra time to get ready for everything."

"I guess a girl would get it. She never really talked about you until now. The paparazzi, this. It doesn't overwhelm you?"

"It's part of Rachel's job. Pictures, autographs. But our personal life, that's quite real. So it doesn't bother me to put up with smiling at a camera to be with Rachel."

There's something about this conversation that became some kindof sport, where we're trying to one up each other. Finn's face is unreadable, that same stoic look. I have to get something out of him, because he's at least jealous.

"You're right, I'd see it that way too."

"Finn, now that we're here, I wanted to tell you something about Rachel, that she didn't tell you. I don't know why she got scared, I mean it's in the past-"

"No, it's fine, you can tell me."

"The day of your wedding, the day of my accident. You guys didn't know I crashed, but she said she wasn't going to marry you if I wasn't there to give you her blessing. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, I just found this out."

"No, it's fine." A twitch, he's repeating himself.

"So yeah, sorry about that. I guess we can get going, you're cleared to leave."

"Hey, get home safe."

Smile. No one hears that kind of news and smiles, not unless they're a masochist, or up to something. I feel like I just investigated Hannibal or something, he seems normal, but I swear, creepy as hell.

Walking back over to Rachel, who's in front of the mirror, I ask, "So, what'd you see?"

"He got pretty pissed at the end. And he's lying about something, people always tend to look away, or avoid referring to themselves when they're being deceiving."

"Huh. Sounds like someone's gunning for my job, we got a bad ass over here..."

"Oh hush," she mutters, with a wave, "Does that mean I'm right?"

"Yes, but I don't know what he's lying about. For all I know, New York could've just made him smarter. All I have is the CD, and a good theory."

"Which is?"

"Can't tell you yet. Not if I'm wrong."

After this interview, I'm almost positive of a few things. He's got the obsessiveness for a stalker down, so he hasn't changed my mind at all on the motive front. There's just hardly any evidence, I'm going on a motive, and tendencies.

"Well, look at that. One day, and I'm already getting the boot," she mocks, offended.

"Let's get out of here, before you go all diva on me."

"How'd you know about the wedding situation, Quinn? I never told anyone that, even when you _refused_ to go-"

"It was a shot in the dark. No one understood why you did that, turning down marrying the love of your life to wait for me."

"Trust me, his parents nearly had heart attacks, and daddy looked ready to have a seizure. When I called it off, suddenly everyone felt better. Plus, it would've been the biggest mistake of my life, according to a certain someone."

"Hey, you needed to hear it." I motion, taking her hand so we can leave. Signing out of the station, I get that uneasy feeling again.

_"Get home safe."_

Finn's not armed, and if he tries to hurt us, he'd only be incriminating himself. Maybe he was being polite.

"You know, part of me wishes you would've just said you liked me."

"Psh, sure, my parents would've been so proud."

"They should be. You can't change who you are."

"I don't exist to them. Perks of the job, I guess. And hey, let's stop dwelling on the past-"

Gunshot. Fucker was aiming for me! Looking frantically, I duck into the nearest alley way with Rachel in front of me, shots still ringing in my ears. They're coming closer, what dumbass is going to shoot at a police station?

Unless they were aiming for Rachel...

"Listen to me, Rachel. I need you to run, go back to the apartment, or whereever, just go-"

"Don't leave me!"

"I have to, just run, please!" I bark at her.

Gun at my waist, I look around for the shooter, and a bullet whizzes past me. It's a guy, all black leather. Firing two shots, I duck, then aim for his shoulder.

The worst part about timing is how it's not perfect. In the milliseconds it takes me to shoot, it takes him just the same amount to get my arm.

Fuck, that hurts.

I can only hold my arm, while I run towards the shot. Try running in the busiest areas of New York, chaos. Only now, it's worse, people are in a panic.

Shoving past the people, stopped cars, and all the likes, I run towards the side of the million dollar complex. He's got a mask on, but once I see his eyes, I steel myself. While I really don't wanna shoot him, I don't want to get hit again. Dammit Puck!

It can't be him. But once I get close enough to take his gun, I can hear him cursing, in pain.

"Puck? What the hell, why'd you shoot at me? I know you didn't do this-"

"I didn't want to kill him! Shit, am I gonna die?"

"Answer my question!"

"You know my code! I'm not snitching anyone out- God, you're just gonna let me bleed to death?"

I could tell him yes, but it's not deadly. Hell, all I did was knock his gun away, he's still well enough to complain about it.

"I'm not putting you in jail for something Finn did!"

"Finn didn't do anything! That was _me_! I killed Brody!"

It makes all the sense in the world, but at the same time, makes none at all. Why Puck? He hardly knew Brody-

He didn't have to know Brody much.

I pull out my phone, scrolling for the keypad. Least I can do is get him into a hospital before he's arrested.

"Who are you calling?"

"An ambulance. But first, I'm gonna read you your rights. Noah Puckerman, you're under arrest for the murder of Brody Weston..."

It drones on, as background noise to my thoughts. That, and the slight sobbing; Puck's still in a lot of pain. Finn did this, he knew this was happening, and he probably saved himself from jailtime by using Puck.

I probably should've stood up, and arrested him. Also, couldn't have hurt to listen to the background, either. Then, I would've heard someone approaching, and I would've caught him. None of that matters now, because as soon as I felt the gun hit my head, I saw black.

* * *

No calls, messages, and it's been at least an hour. Not to be the needy girl, or pushy, but if I don't get word that Quinn's ok, I'm gonna flip. And I'm at Jesse's place. Great...

"We could go over lines- I mean, unless you're comfortable with the material, like I am."

"Ever the chauvinist."

"You know I'm deeper than that. I only let you see that I'm not an ass."

"And everyday I wonder why."

"We were meant to be together, Rachel. It was destiny that brought you here, to my house. Not the promise of tofu, or anything besides foods that don't have a trace of eggs."

"To think, I was with you until you brought up the eggs..."

It's a running joke we have, the dating thing. With all the rehearsal and stage kisses, we've learned that friendship works best for us. That, and competition, we strive to make each other better, by outperforming ourselves. On stage, sure there are solos, and monologues, but it's a team effort. The best actor is only so much without his leading lady.

Oh, the egg thing too. I'm still not over it. You wouldn't be either, if you woke up everyday for a year, swatting imaginary bird mothers from your head.

"Yes, well for the millionth time, I apologize. You're really worried Rachel, and I don't know what to tell you... Neither Quinn or that story you told me made the news, plus you said you saw Finn, that he said 'hey' to you and left?"

"I know you didn't see him, but you _had_ to hear the hysteria, people don't just make these things up-!"

It was really creepy, in a total panic, I run into Finn, who's completely calm. And all he says is, 'hey Rachel!', as if somebody isn't firing a gun at people. That's when I knew; he may not have done it, but Finn was involved with Brody's murder.

"Look Rachel," Jesse offers, trying to calm me down, "I believe you, it's just a little... crazy? But Quinn will be ok, she's probably nailing some perp right now."

"Well- because you were comforting me- I'll just overlook the obvious double entendre you were making to thank you."

"Nah, she likes you. You know how I can tell?"

"Oh, please tell me, wise Jesse," I joke, bowing my head in fake reverence. "Your word of course, is canon."

"The other day, I'm pretty sure she really wanted to shoot me in the ass. Thought I kept messing up the end to "La Vie Boheme", I've never seen someone plot my death with such passion."

"So that's why she was all over- you know what? I'm sorry Quinn did that, really. It's in her nature to protect me."

"I'm not, you two are cute. But I do have to say, that came pretty sudden. What happened to the Rachel Berry who wouldn't be defined by a boyfriend?"

"She got a girlfriend?" I answer, weakly. To be honest, I felt it was one of those once-in-a-lifetime moments. Because how often does a girl befriend her worst enemy in high school?Or, make a huge mistake and get a second chance?

"That'll show 'em! So, when's Kurt coming, so I can join team gay? I'm feeling kind of lonely being the only straight guy around..."

"You know it wasn't like that, Jesse. And don't make fun-!"

"No one's making fun of the 'gay lesb all' community, so don't go on that rant with me again. Remember, I was the favorite, I don't know how to deal with problems because I go through life with rose colored glasses."

"Do you realize you always seem to revolve conversations around yourself? I'd say you were doing it on purpose, if you weren't trying to distract me."

"That's my orders, until Quinn comes back to kidnap you. But I was serious, I do care about what happens to you, I still-"

I'm not sure if it was because I held my breath, or he chickened out. This is just a part of our game, right?

"Jesse, I..."

"I know, I come off as a jerk all the time. When you're talented, I think you can at least say it. Still, even after all the drama, fighting during and after rehearsals, we know each other best. Maybe I wasn't the guy for you, all I know is, that I'm going to make sure that at the end of the day, you're happy. So, if it's Quinn, that's great. I hope you ride off in the sunset with your cop. Just don't let her shoot me, ok?"

"Geez Jesse, and they say I'm the dramatic one," I sniff, fighting back tears, as I pull him close. _This_ is why we're friends, whatever mistakes have happened in the past, he learned from it. And I don't resent him for not being able to say he loves me. We know. He never has to say it.

That's why I couldn't give Finn a chance. Where Finn got all of the firsts, and memorable moments, Jesse didn't need them. He did things from the heart, without having an ulterior motive. Quinn has her moments too, while she'd deny it to her grave. No one spends almost a year's salary on someone just to keep up a facade for the public. But she thinks about things beforehand, usually planning a nice gesture to make sure it's perfect. When it is, she usually never wants a thank you, just for me to smile.

It's sometimes annoying, because while we're alpha-beta in terms of personality, we're both women. So it doesn't matter if she's passive and I'm aggressive, we'll still fight over things as stupid as word meanings. Hell, we'll fight for the last Oreo if one of us is that moody.

"Quinn says one of your favorite songs is '_I Feel Pretty_'. Care to belt one out, just for old times sake?"

I nod, before realizing it, and the next thing you know, it's like we're going for auditions together, practicing in glee club, singing in a public music store.

* * *

"Wakey wakey, Quinn..."

"Su, Scotty? What're you-?"

"Someone's been having a lot of fun out here, huh?"

Wait, this isn't a dream... Like a camera, everything comes into focus, and I'm tied to a chair. Next to Scotty. Can someone pop out and say "April Fool's" or something?

"What's, what's going on?"

"You know, she knew too much. We had to get her Quinn, I mean Brody was stupid enough to let her find out his mission. Let's be realistic, if this were anyone else, they'd be dead."

I must've got hit harder than I thought, because my boss is talking about killing Rachel.

"She's a civilian, not to mention a big walking billboard for Broadway. And I already know she won't tell. Now can you tell me what's with the whole, knocking me out, tying me up gig?"

Really, my head is literally pounding. Think Quinn, let him talk, and figure out how to break the zip ties or something. Oh great, I can hardly feel my hands...

"This isn't exactly following protocol, but I've done worse. So, I'm gonna ask nicely, where is she?"

Ah, interrogation. This is a first, and I'm gonna enjoy it, because I'm not telling this fucker where she is.

God, he really is one, but if he could avoid bruising my face, I'd take that gladly.

"Beats me, she ran as soon as Puck shot at me."

He swung so hard, I swear, I tasted metal. Turning, to spit out blood, I smile. Scotty doesn't know shit. He can beat the hell out of me, even kill me, but that won't tell him where she went.

"So we're doing this the hard way?"

"I'm guessing, you don't seem to be taking honesty well."

And yet another pistol whip. Seriously, if he knocks out a tooth, I will find a way to get out of these plastic restraints. I will hurt him. Then I'll get my teeth fixed on his dental insurance. At least humor helps with the pain. Well not really, but I'm trying.

"See, that's what happens when you sleep with someone you're supposed to be watching. You start to care, and you miss things. She called your parents Quinn. They seem to act like you're dead."

Wiggling my fingers, I attempt to gain the feeling back. I know what I've gotta do, and it's gonna hurt a lot. If I do it wrong, it'll hurt like hell, and I'll probably get shot.

"Yeah, how'd that go?"

"She asked for their blessing to date you. Lectured them on their homophobia, yada yada, it doesn't matter. We have to get rid of someone."

"I always wanted to die young and pretty."

Dude, I wish you'd come close to me. I need him to grab me, so I can snap this thing while he's distracted. But no, he insists on pounding me, I think this time he hit near my eye. I'm bleeding, that hasn't happened in a long time.

"You seem to like joking a lot. Then you might like this one: as soon as she makes a call, she's dead. We'll find her, you know, get her into a car. Cover it up, say it's an accident. So please, just tell me another one of your amazing jokes that I'd _love_ to hear."

"I would, but my face would look worse than Rihanna's, and you know, once you start hitting the victim in the head, their memory starts going... Who are you?"

He hesitates, before starting for me. Good, this is what I wanted. Once he's got a grip on my face, I swing my arms back, pulling them back _hard_. The force breaks the zipties, and the adrenaline kicks in, as I twist his arm to snag his gun.

Breathing hard, I pull the trigger, once. Nothing. And he's smiling, like this is okay.

"Told you I didn't want to hurt-"

At least he got a taste of his own medicine. Just my arm, is literally dead. I have to see a doctor soon, honestly, I'm trained and I feel like I'm going to pass out.

"Quinn, don't..." he begs, as I'm hovering over him. I'm not gonna kill him, that's the quickest way to get people on my ass. I'll just repay the favor.

"Say 'hi' to my parents for me, ok?"

He forgot to completely strip me when he took my bag. I've got a small needle still on my inside pocket. Serum, usually just used to sedate someone. He sees it once I pull off the cap, and struggles, hard against my grip, to knock away the needle. With my arm, it's easy, and I'm kicked in the sides.

That too, he's a bit stronger on that end. I can tell he's looking for that needle, so I go for plan B. He's kneeling, as I attempt to chop him in the back of his neck. No dice, he turns and catches my throat in a death lock. Pulling never works, usually I'd headbutt him, but I'm not sure that'd hurt him more. As he tightens his grip, I break the man rule. In fights, rules go to hell and back. Of course I'll kick a guy in the balls to win a fight. It made him let go at least.

Once he's down, I quickly search for the needle, and jab him right in the neck.

"Nighty night, motherfucker."

We're in a warehouse, and I run out to completely vast space. I've gotta find my way back to Rachel, but if I'm doing that, I've got to find people first. That, and a hospital.

* * *

Despite the amount of time, it isn't miserable being at Jesse's, it just reminds me of work. Which is becoming harder and harder to go to with this investigation.

"Are you sure I shouldn't call?"

"Positive. Give it three days, or you look needy."

"Jesse I'm being serious. It's been all day, I haven't got _one_ piece of news that says she's ok-"

"Except, you know, her being at my front door."

What? Looking through the window to make sure he isn't trying to give me a heart attack, I see it. Quinn in the flesh.

I rip open the door, and I almost stop at the sight. She looks almost unrecognizable with all of the bruises on her face. It's even worse when she tries to talk.

"Rach..."

Taking the arm that doesn't look like a piece of raw meat, I drag her in, to a wide-eyed Jesse.

"We need to take her to a hospital. I'll call-"

"_Don't_."

She can't be serious, her arm looks like it's not even able to move!

"None of that hero crap, you're gonna get proper medical attention."

"I didn't mean that... Use Jesse's phone. And can I get water?"

Jesse hands me his phone, while I sit her down, leaving to get her a glass. If I know anything from injuries on stage, it's to make sure Quinn doesn't go to sleep. I wanna ask so many questions, like who did this, and what's happening, but I'm not sure if I'll get any answers.

"It doesn't hurt as much if there's pressure on it. So, if you've got-"

"Some water and aspirin for the lady, with a towel. I've also got a first aid kit, if needed."

"No, just the towel. I just need to be cleaned up-"

"Quinn, listen to yourself, you need some medical attention," I reply, while Jesse hands her a towel.

"And some food, I cater to vegans."

"Thanks, I just need something simple. Could you give us a second, Jesse?"

"Of course," he nods, before heading into the kitchen.

It doesn't take long to see Quinn nearly tear up from the pain. She's shutting her eyes tightly, and it's not working to well, because apparently that hurts to do, too.

"Come close."

There's no real authority behind it, no command, no bark. This isn't Quinn, the secretive CIA agent, this is Quinn, my lover. Obliging, I brush the hair back from her face, admiring her beauty, even with battle scars.

"Talk to me, Quinn."

"Rach, they set me up, to come here. You know about me, so they want to kill you, and I know too much, so now they're after the both of us. Now I'm... I'm a target."

That's not good. Targets are meant to be hit, taken out.

"What're we gonna do? Just keep running from the law, the people who should be protecting us?"

"Trust me, it's easier than you think. We're not saints, trust me."

I'm examining her, and her right eye's gonna need stitches. Even with the gap in her face, Quinn's green eyes still look amazing. Fuck you, whoever did this to Quinn's flawless features.

"Tell me everything will be ok, and I'll believe you."

Her hand draws in my face for a kiss, and it's not everything, but it's a start.

"I'm gonna hurt people, maybe kill a few. They're gonna come after us. But we'll be ok."

That sounds a bit more like the Quinn I've grown to know for about a month. Confident, but honest. She probably has some sort of ace card to use to be so sure.

"How can you say that for sure?"

"I just kicked my boss' ass, now I can do whatever I want. There are no rules. Plus, Jesse has a first aid kit. We're all set."

From far off, I can hear Jesse, offended. "Don't mock my preparation, especially when you look like a corpse right now!"

Turning back, I feel her stare, as if to ask, "_Where do you find these people_?"

"I swear, I never slept with him."

"Oh hon, you should've told me that sooner. He's in that kitchen, with the thought in the back of his mind that I could, at any time, ruin his perfect ass. We could've had it all, Rach, we could've had it all."

Now I just know they're gonna become best friends. If there isn't anything worse than a braggart, it's someone there to encourage it.

**So there's Part II! I always did have a soft spot for St. Berry... But they're not happening, Faberry is. xD **

**What do ya think?**


	3. Part III

**Disclaimer: I don't own glee, but is it gonna be cancelled? **

**This is what happens when you don't have FABERRY. Karma's a bitch, Ryan Murphy. jkjkjk**

I can feel Rachel tracing random shapes into my back, while I'm perched at one end of the bed. She should hate me for this, we're gonna go to this ugly place, where there's no going back. No city lights, no stage, no Statue of Liberty. Just constant paranoia, and running. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but we have to. They'll kill you if I stay or go.

"Do you love me?"

Maybe it's my luck, but every once in a while, Rachel decides to ask this. Usually I can change the subject, talk about something she's doing. This time, I give it a thought. I've always wanted to date her, because she moved me. For one person to have such a presence, determination, confidence in her abilities, that's not something you'll see in Lima. Rachel said she would be on Broadway, sang her ass off, and got there. That's what got me, her voice, plus that stupid bickering.

I was in the bathroom, about to write something about Finn on one of the stalls, when I heard it. "I Feel Pretty", it was her favorite song, but it was even more emotional to hear it from a sobbing mess. Rachel had just been slushied for the first time. Her voice was still something out of nowhere, striking. That's when I knew she'd make it, and I hated myself for that. So, of course, I made her life a living hell. She was always nice to me, which made it damn near impossible. It worked, she cracked the code to dealing with "Alpha Cheerleader Bitch". Along with, you know, me never wanting to be one. I found that I could be her friend, Finn wasn't that much of a loss.

Just a few weeks ago, I took her out to shoot a gun. Now the kickback is second nature to me, but I'll be damned if I haven't seen the funniest reaction to shooting a gun for the first time. Sure, I nearly jumped, my heart was racing. Rachel, this chick dropped the gun, then tried to run out of her first lesson. After chasing her halfway down the block, I promised to teach her myself if she'd come back. In her defense, the guy merely warned her, girls like Rachel need specifics. Holding her arms to position them, I felt her shaking. Bad vibes, people get them because they associate guns with hurting someone. As I steady her hands, I whisper what's about to happen.

_"Don't worry if you miss, this is a practice. The goal is to hit the paper, your target, and you'll get there, after a while. For now, just get used to how the gun feels. Kind of heavy, but not too much. When you're ready, pull the trigger. Just like you felt, it's gonna fight back. Let it happen."_

She gives me the expected, "What the fuck?" look, and I nod. It'll work, though she doesn't believe me. I'm gonna have to step it up.

Wrapping my arms around her waist, I nuzzle her ear, careful not to let the instructor hear us.

_"Just pretend that gun is me, and you're gonna pull my trigger. Now, I may have some fight in me, but you're Rachel Berry. You're not scared of little ole me, are you?" _I finished, smirking. Rachel doesn't half ass things, especially when it involves competition. That poor target.

Three shots are fired, but one does hit the target, nicking the shoulder. Once she opens her eyes, she puts the gun down, and grabs me to see it. Rachel shot her first victim, and she's jumping for joy at the sight. Yes, she's for real, dude. Just give her the damn paper as a keepsake. I didn't know why she needed a Sharpie, but of course, Rachel would autograph her target, with a star. I'm not sure why she still uses it, she's made it already. Then again, maybe it means more than that. Most of the time, Rachel is an open book, but she loves her metaphors.

The truth. Just tell her the truth.

"No."

I know, Rachel. Just let me finish. The whole world knows I'd do anything for you, but I'm not going to lie to you. Nobody would do this for someone if they didn't care about them.

She doesn't say anything, no, "What?" "Why not?", just waiting. It's not desperate, which I'm thankful. Rachel's not gonna be clingy, or needy.

"If I'm gonna keep you safe, you need to know that I'll take a bullet for you. Get tortured, shot at, stabbed, maybe even poisoned. I don't know much about love, so if we get out of this alive, sure. I'll take that chance. But for right now, for my sanity, we've got to take a step back."

"You made me a promise, _you_, that if we were going to do this-"

I can't do this. Pushing away, I stand up to look back at her. Neither of us look like anything to write home about, with the whole no sleep thing. As much as I hate it, anyone can use us as bait to hurt the other.

"I did, but I'm not making it easier for them to hurt you. This is my fault, and I just want to fix things."

"This, coming from the girl who's got a hole in her arm. Okay, sure. We can break up, and you can skip town, probably what you wanted to do in the first place-"

"Rachel, I took this case for you-"

"Yeah, so you could use me, and leave right? Just like Brody, which is why I can't even forgive him, even if he's dead!"

"Brody loved you, which is more than I can say for the other guys you've seen. He really didn't want you to find out about him, that was a human mistake. But he gave up his life for you, and personally, I think it's a little fucked up how you're choosing to remember him."

"That may be, but in the real world, we bury our loved ones, not erase them."

And that's why this won't ever work. Rachel doesn't understand how things operate, we're not normal human beings, who can just go out shopping, and go home to their wife and kids. They train us to shoot without bias, how to shut off human emotions.

"We knew what we were getting into when we signed up. Hell, half the shit I've done for you I would've been canned for- save the fact that I technically am in trouble-"

"I think Rachel's right."

"Shut the fuck up!", we answer simultaneously, to the small voice.

Wait, did we just? Couples do this stuff, finish each other's sentences, say things in unison. Or maybe I'm just overthinking. Rachel does like to hear the sound of her own voice. Still, it was nice to see her attempt a defiant look, while trying not to smile.

"Right... Leaving before you guys start aggressively making out, or whatever it is you do. Unless, I'm allowed to join..."

Now we're glaring at him. He gets the hint, that while appreciated, neither of us is in the joking mood. And I can't read Rachel, but she's got that look in her eyes, the one that I hated in high school. That "_you told me no, so I'm just gonna do it anyways_," kindof deal. Don't push that button, Rachel. Things will get ugly, fast.

Her arm is still gripping him, as she grips his neck, and kisses him, hard. Even from my angle, I can tell he doesn't have a clue what's going on, until he decides to kiss back. Really, Rachel? We're gonna go with the jealousy route?

Not to mention his bad fucking kissing, because from the looks of it, she's really trying to hide that she's choking on his tongue. And this is someone with _no freaking gag reflex_. There go the over exaggerated moans. I'm not gonna hurt him, he's just a pawn, just a pawn, just a-

Wow, now I know how Puck feels. One second I'm ok, and the next second, I've got a handful of Jesse's hair in my hand, not knowing how it got there.

"You should probably go walk it off, hit the Park, tell me how the weather is."

"I swear you girls are trying to kill me," he retorts, making no effort to ruin his already damaged hair.

"Not me, I'd suggest you tell your friend Rachel over here, not to upset people that own guns," I finish, with a shove. Once he's actually left, I turn back to the perpetrator.

"For the record, I'm not doing this because I'm jealous of that awkward, and deeply unsettling-"

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," she muses, and before I can reply, she cracks a grin, pulling me closer.

"Please don't do that again."

That's me, ever the vulnerable one. How does Rachel always do this to me? Hold me out on a string, and pull me back towards her?

"Quinn, you just saw a stage kiss."

What? No, I saw a kiss, she _clearly_ kissed him. Well not one hundred percent clear, but people get the gist.

"Rachel, I was right here-"

"My hand covered his face. We do this all the time, and I told him to just go with it. Neither of us are into each other like that. I just wanted to prove a point. You like me."

Oh no, there's that face. The same thing happened when she hit the target. Sure Rachel's talent is merited, but what made it a struggle to deal with was her bragging. Cut her off before it starts. That'll work.

"And I always will. That's not the issue, I want you to be safe, and you know that comes first to me. Because if we can live through this, a relationship would be a cake walk."

It's like digging my own grave, her smile keeps getting bigger. Where is James Bond with his handbook on women, and how to properly shut them up? I could've used that from time to time...

"Then, I'm gonna give you two options of how we can settle this. That way, when it fails, no one can blame it on Rachel this time."

"Okay..." I'm hesitant, as she leans into my ear, suggesting something insanely outlandish, but I'd want that. That sounds _really_ good. Wait, that's option A, meaning she probably wants me to take the second offer. Sure enough, she looks to me to gauge my reaction, so I motion for her to continue. Option B sounds like, a plan, something well thought out to cover all the bases. Rachel missing rehearsals, getting me off the paparazzi's radar.

"B's good. It works, and for what I'm about to do, I need to be anonymous."

"What're we gonna do?"

"Just... steal from the government to bail out Puck?"

See, I'd get the "holy shit!", or "Ms. Fabray! We are not going to steal from an accredited agency", or something like that. Just not her reaction.

"Well that certainly sounds like something worthy of being on the bucket list."

* * *

It's not stealing, per se. If you look at it another way, one could say I just gave myself a bonus, for about a million dollars. Because you know, Puck had to commit every crime he could before getting serious jail time.

Still, if I were a criminal, I would _never_ let Rachel be my partner. Her constant, "What if's"- all possible consequences- just serve to make me even more nervous. Straight face, you're lying. You can do this, you do it all the time. Just write a check, and get him out.

"Won't they know you're here?"

"And here I thought you knew a thing or two about acting..." I feign sighing, passing her my fake ID. Well, it's a government issued one, just with the wrong name. If they try to find this person, they'll just find a clean cut file, no debts, good credit.

"I just need you to lay low and pretend you're not famous. Hence the clothes."

We look like two British chicks coming out of a wedding. Seriously, it's kindof unattractive to be an inheritant of a billionaire. Well, just the hats are, otherwise we look normal.

"Lucy Smith?"

It's my original first name, with my mother's maiden name. No one can find that though, Lucy doesn't exist anymore, she was wiped from middle school once I got this job. Ignoring a curious eyebrow from my counterpart, I put on my fake WASP alter ego.

Apparently, I learned something from my father.

"Excuse me, I'm here to post bail for Noah Puckerman?"

They're giving me incredulous looks, like people of my stature wouldn't touch someone like Puck with a ten foot pole. I mean, I would. This chick I'm portraying wouldn't.

Clicking her keyboard, the officer checks for his name and bail amount.

"That's, one million dollars. Are you related to this man, how do you even-?"

"He's my poolboy." At this, I offer my ID, and scrawl out a check. Rachel's doing her best to pretend she doesn't exist. I only took a night to prepare this plan, and barely even that. Rachel and Jesse had to tie me down to wrap my arm.

While they go to verify my numbers, and bring me Puck, I look to see Rachel, staring determinately at the ground.

"I forgot to say I'm sorry for dumping your phone in water."

"It's ok. I can get a new one."

"And for all of this. I feel like I'm taking a lot from you to do this. You shouldn't have to be here, but I promise, I'll make it up to you."

"I understand, I just want this to be all over-"

A loud voice cuts her off, and I can already feel the facepalm and regret come to light when I hear his voice.

"Puck's out bitches! Thank you, thank you. And thank you, rich lady whom I do pools for. Next one's on the house."

Thank God, Puck can lie. See with him, I can do something. Criminals aren't stupid, they just focus their attention to other things. If you ask Puck the capital of the United States, he wouldn't know, but ask him where you'd find the most drug dealers in a town. He'd know, and that's far more useful.

"Noah, you realize I was going to buy a Ferrari this summer? You cost me that, and a vacation. If I didn't know your mother was a good woman, I would've let you rot in that cell. Such a good family, and you're putting their name to shame."

We're walking out the door, hoping beyond hope we're not called back, or something went wrong. As soon as the coast is clear, I unlock my door, pulling off the hat and getup.

"I have never been so nervous in my life."

"Neither have I. Oh, and sorry for sounding like a rich bitch, Puck. Part of the act."

"Dude, you bailed me out. After shooting me. I just wanna know what's going on."

They're not gonna pursue it. Well, cops won't. When you get a million dollars, you don't tend to ask questions, you take it and run. Hence why rich people can commit crimes.

"You shot at me, for starters. And because I shot back, I'm out of a job. So you're not talking to a cop."

"I wasn't aiming to hit you. Besides, what do you want with me anyways? I confessed to the crime, that's the end of it."

He almost hits the window as I start the car, and make a sharp curve. It's Jesse's, for when he goes out in high traffic. The tinted windows are helpful, but it's still flashy and attracts attention, because it's freaking huge.

"Puck, here I thought we were catching up. You, me, Rachel... I mean she did care about this guy you're saying you killed."

A nod to the rearview mirror, and Rachel gets the hint. We're gonna tag team him. If I remember anything from high school, it's that Puck could only stand so much of Rachel's head voice. She says it doesn't even hurt now to sing that high for stretches of time.

"What do you want me to say, sorry?"

"Rachel, it's been a while since we've all been in glee club. Why don't you show Puck how much your voice has changed since then?"

"Oh, no..."

"_Don't cry for me, Argentina_...!"

Maybe it's the fact that I'm in love with her, but her voice has more depth than that day in the bathroom, but still is just as captivating.

"No, we're not doing this. Rachel can stop right now, I'm not saying anything."

"_The truth is I never left you_..."

"You don't even know Brody, just tell me Finn did it, and this'll be over."

"Hey, I'm no snitch. And it seems that you guys need me, enough to spend a whole lot of dough on me. Which means you have no clue what happened."

"_All through my wild days, my mad existence... I kept my promise_..."

"Jesus, can you shut her up!"

"Rach, cut the vocals."

Fun time's over. I hate to do this to an old friend, but hopefully he won't push me to do anything drastic. Turning back around, I point my gun right at his nose, watching his expression change.

"Did you know, I could shoot you right here, and nothing would happen to me?"

Well, not nothing.

"Quinn, don't-"

I can't comfort her, or even move. He has to think I'm not even thinking twice about pulling the trigger.

"Finn knocked him out, but he got scared, didn't he? You're the thinker, you'd have done a better job of it... So you decided to clean up his mess, no?"

"I'm not saying anything!"

"Yeah, and you think Finn would care if I shot you? You're just his alibi, I know you have no business even being here if it wasn't for him."

"We dormed together, sure, but he wasn't the one who ordered the hit. I just cleaned up somebody's mess. They even left me a car to dump the body, no plates or trace."

"Who?"

At this point, my gun's almost up his nose, and he has to lean back to speak. If I'm not jumping to conclusions, this whole case was a set up to bring me to New York. If my own boss is after me, they want me dead. Just like Brody.

But why? Because of Rachel?

"You know who. They told me you'd go after me, if it had to do with Barbra Streisand's long lost daughter over here."

"Leave her out of this."

"No! You coming here, I said I'd give you up so she wouldn't have to go through this. They're gonna come after you, and if they find her, she's done. No more annoying songs, and one less pure Jew in the world."

"So why are you telling me this, Puck? To make me feel bad, to walk back in there and hand you back?"

"My mother would castrate me if I didn't protect the only girl who could sing "Ave Maria", and bring her to tears. I took this on to keep Rachel alive, if not, they would've killed her sooner."

I know that. Which is why I'm stuck for a loop, did they frame Finn? Am I just going on a wild duck hunt for something that doesn't exist?

"I'm gonna need more than that. As far as I can tell, you owe me. And I think a million dollars is a fair price for what I'm asking."

"Deal, if you get me something to eat. They only gave me coffee and bread, for a high class prisoner, you'd think they'd feed me properly..."

My eye catches Rachel's deadpan, as I lower my gun to shake his hand. He's said something, but not enough. Puck will tell me, though. I just have to scratch his back, for the same in return. It's not gonna be fun, but I guess this is taking one for the team. Plus, if I know him like I do, he'll fold. Noah's got a soft spot for us.

"And I've got a plan..."

It's like looking at your child, who just got back their first math test with a sticker on it. Rachel's really beaming like that, and it'd be creepy if it wasn't so damn cute. Why'd I let her choose option B?

**And the plot thickens! Review for more?**


	4. Part IV

**Disclaimer: Ryan Murphy owns glee, but that might not be for long. He should sell it to fanfic writers... xD**

_Every day at the Fabray household, without fail, we had dinner as a family, at that huge, overly expensive table, decorated as if the Big Man Himself was coming to visit. Dad talked about the liberal media, and how with time, all of the boys have become sissy pansies. Afraid of God, guns, girls. He found it comforting, that and his Crown Royal to chase every meal. Mom was like his prize, the perfect housewife, obedient and quiet. Much like work, nobody had to really talk, except for him, which was fine with me. I wasn't going to try killing myself by mentioning this girl who used to annoy the hell out of me, but now frustrates me to no end. Because she's amazing, especially with her mistakes. And she's better than all of us, though we seem to have everything we want now. That dreadful time that I brought Finn over taught me enough; my father couldn't handle me being anything other than the perfect daughter he created in his mind, and my mother was only more than willing to keep the veil over his eyes to satisfy him._

_My father never hit us, not once, not ever. Nor did we ever fear it, what we hated were the insults. Almost like the turn of a doorknob, my father could change from doting daddy to cynical jerk. Every boyfriend would become "potential babydaddy #2", Santana was "a slut who's eventually going to be on welfare and medicaid after popping a few out." Because, you know, lesbians have a bunch of kids. Brittany was obviously a stoner, though her mother warned us about her eating tendencies after joining the Cheerios, and insisted we make sure she eats something while she's with us. For some reason, my dad took a real liking to Puck. Then again, he was a sexist asshole. And Puck can put on the charm when comes down to the wire. _

_There was usually a boundary he'd find out, not to cross after he learned I joined the Glee club. Calling Kurt a faggot wouldn't merit even a chuckle, Mercedes was off limits after she let me stay at her home, and Finn... Well, he embarrassed himself enough, that words couldn't top that moment. Sometimes I'd be annoyed about Rachel. Tina and Mike were "my competition", and Mike always gets better grades than I do in Physics._

_"Even that Artie kid is doing better than you, and he's a friggin' crip-!"_

_"SHUT UP!"_

_The words even sounded foreign to me after I said them. What the fuck was I doing, picking a fight with a drunk man?_

_"Excuse me?"_

_I never thought word vomit was actually a thing until everything came out, like an avalanche, a waterfall. Everything I was telling myself to keep quiet about decided to slip off of the tip of my tongue, as if I could afford to say them._

_"Everyday, I have to sit through your diatribes of how I shouldn't be in glee club, a group that makes me feel included. I don't have to make sure I weigh a certain amount before practice, or if I could eat junk food, because I'll exercise for two hours to burn it off. We sing about things going on in our life. Being gay, being different, being in a fucking wheelchair for life after some asshole decides to drink and drive! Which is some talk, seeing as I had to be in a wheelchair too, dad. Was I a cripple too, daddy?"_

_This isn't bravery, this is stupidity. A deathwish. I don't know how, while I live and breathe, I just knew he's wasn't gonna lash out. My money would've been on it, if I were gambling. I may be an angry drunk, ever the daddy's girl, but I never hit anyone when I was beyond wasted. They next morning, my hangover would greet me, with one less friend on Facebook. It made me honest. Maybe that's why people prefer it._

_Either way, he's laughing as if I've told the greatest joke in the history of man. That full out, slap stick deal, except he's mocking me._

_"No, what you are is stupid. Texting while driving to some Vegas style wedding for some girl, who's marrying the guy who got you knocked up! Ha! She must have a bright future ahead of her, doesn't she?"_

_"Russell, honey..."_

_Again with that annoying shit. Thank God he never found out Puck was the actual father. My mom's trying to intervene, but neither of us are going to have any of it. I know she won't have my back this time, she showed me a long time ago that she'd rather be loyal to her husband than her own daughter. And that's fine with me._

_"Now let her talk, Judy. That's what the therapist says will save our marriage, no? Talk it out, like a bunch of girls! My God, this country's going to the dogs! A man's a man, and he has needs. His wife should make him happy, cook, clean, take care of the kids. It's because of me that you're here, in this fine home. I don't charge you rent, or require you pay the bills. Hell, at sixteen, daddy made sure you were the first in line to drive to your next Cheerios practice in style."_

_Which he never let me forget, especially after I crashed the thing, and nearly died. He couldn't even look at me when I was in a wheelchair, it was like he saw it as a weakness on display. Mom knew, as soon as he mentioned Artie. She probably prayed that he wouldn't bring up Rachel. The one time I let her in my life, and was completely vulnerable, she balked. 'Girls these days like to experiment, but you'll settle down one day, find that right guy.' What a big fucking lie that was._

_"Oh yeah, thanks for that dad. Thanks for giving me money everytime I asked, but not hugs. If you were a real man, you wouldn't give a shit about Kurt being gay, because he's Broadway AND NFL material. Artie, Tina and Mike study harder than I do, that's plain as day. Finn can get music and sports scholarships. Sam is not burning in hell for being broke, and doing something he felt necessary to save his family from losing their home. None of your jokes about Rachel being a typical Jew are remotely funny. Santana is my best friend, not some slut. And If I hear one more thing about Brittany or Mercedes including the words 'fat' or 'donut'-"_

_"And what're you gonna do Quinn? We've discussed Dartmouth, Princeton, Harvard. You don't want to follow in my footsteps, honey? I hope you learn something at Yale, that once you're done, it won't be worth so much as the toilet paper you wipe your ass with. Drama, like that's going to make you any money, or build your career. No wonder they gave you a full scholarship."_

_That did scare me, like hell, when I applied, so I took a minor in criminal justice. The acting did help, but I found my passion was serving the people. Or so I thought. This guy could shove it, because I'd make a life for myself, without his money. And that's exactly what I did._

* * *

"Here, here! That was such a beautiful story, Quinn..."

Wait, why'd I say all of that? Oh God, I'm trashed. If Puck's passed out, I'm definitely drunk, or more.

"Yeah, so that's my family, rich, conservative white trash. Ya know they have a shrine to the Westboro Baptist Church?"

"No. Way."

She's nursing a drink, true to her word. Rachel was never really a drinker, because she feared what it'd do to her vocals. Puck only got her to drink at that party by attacking her pride, something Finn expanded on.

Wiping my mouth, I nod, "Way. Damn near terrified me when I saw it in my father's closet."

"Well, that's horrific, but I have to say: drunk Quinn is quite charming. I'm kindof glad you told me about how you felt when we were writing songs."

Shit, how much did I say?

"My mom literally told me to fuck you, and forget you. That's not even human, how does someone tell their own kid 'hey, you like her? Just fuck her, but don't fall in love. God wouldn't want that.' Shit, you're hell of a lot better looking than Finn..."

I'm pretty sure I'm having this outer body experience where I'm helplessly looking at myself, as I mess shit up. Shut up, Quinn, shut up.

"Thank you?"

"You're welcome, and excuse my French." Pointing to Puck, I chuckle. "He never listens to me, I told him liquor than beer, but he always just goes for it. That's why we've gotta give him a Sharpie mustache or somethin'. Rachel, let me give him one, I draw really well-"

"You told me that too, about the drawing. Now that I think of it, you used to draw really detailed pictures of me. I promise I won't think of you as a douche bag for that, I'm sure you put great effort into making the next Mona Lisa in that bathroom stall. But we do need some sleep, so..."

I can feel myself being pushed against a bed, and I lazily go with it. Rachel's struggling to pull my legs up, and I giggle at her attempts. Once she gets the dead weight up, panting heavily, Rachel finds an even harder task. Getting me changed for bed.

"Quinn, Jesus you're heavy! Arms up, arms up," she encourages, while I refuse to move.

"Nuh uh, I can sleep like this no problem."

"Don't make me tickle you, I'm not afraid to play dirty to get what I want."

"Psh, you're not doing- Ah, wait no!" I yelp, as she's straddling me, tickling my sides to lift my shirt over my head.

I'm not sure what happened, or if some imaginary light switch went off, or I merely get drunk and hook up with people, but once my shirt was gone, everything stopped. I noticed my body just got warmer, plus it would be a really good idea to have sex with Rachel. Go ahead self, make a move.

Her arms slid down mine, laying flat above my head. Even a blind man could see me bite my lip at that. But apparently she didn't, or maybe she did. There's a tug at my zipper, and I can feel my pants being peeled off. I'm still not sure what's going on.

When she returns to my eye level, I smile. She still sees this gorgeous Quinn, I'm the prettiest girl she's ever known, but I'm so much more than that. So when she kisses me, with a sense of finality, I'm ok with it. Tucks me in like a kid, awesome. Says goodnight, and 'I love you'.

"I love you too."

No. Not ok. Gosh, am I gonna remember this in the morning?

**I wanted to get this story up at a decent rate. Thanks for all of the reviews and comments! :)**


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